A Fine Match
by tetleybag
Summary: Summer 1953. 28-year-old Auror Minerva McGonagall attends a memorable game of Quidditch. Re-post of a fic originally written in 2003. f/f


**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and licensees. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This was my first real attempt at fanfiction, originally written in 2003 in response to a challenge.

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A Fine Match

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"_..And Kuenzer has got the Quaffle! Morgan fooled by Brand's spectacular Porskoff Ploy, Kuenzer is coming forward; the centre field is wide open—where are Bell and MacPhearse?—Kuenzer aims…and SCORES, bringing the count up to 1,960 to 1,820 for the Heidelberg Harriers!"_

"Damn," barked a young, square-jawed witch with very short, brown hair. "Did you see that? _No_ one there to cover the centre field. Why don't they just let the Harriers play by themselves?"

The black-haired witch next to the square-jawed one rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn.

"They're probably as tired as we are," she said in a crisp, Scottish accent. "What's the time played?"

"Six days, eleven hours and forty-three minutes," muttered the third witch, a tall, young woman with a very prominent chin, who had just pulled a pocket watch out of the folds of her robes.

It was the finals of the 1953 European National Quidditch Champions' Cup. The Wizarding World was in a state of confusion. For over six days now, shops and offices lay abandoned because people had just collectively forgotten to turn up for work. No owls were seen in the sky, and house elves were falling into fits of depression by the hundreds because there was not one witch or wizard at home to be fed, cared for and cleaned up after. Only the butterbeer importers ran extra shifts, for keeping the throats of four and a half thousand cheering wizards and witches well-oiled for nearly a week had taken its toll on the existing supplies.

Minerva McGonagall, Senior Assistant to the Head of the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been offered three tickets in the V.I.W. stands, courtesy of the Ministry. She had invited her best friend, young Auror Amelia Bones, and Amelia's new flame Wilhelmina, a slightly gruff but, if you knew her, not at all unfriendly Healer of Magical Creatures, to come along. Little had they known that it was to be the most memorable match in history.

Particularly for Minerva.

"_Change of players for the Holyhead Harpies. Coach Clarke just informed us that they're unable to wake up their second alternate Beater, Gina Saunders—who can blame her after thirty-seven consecutive hours in the pitch?—and that they will be bringing on a brand new talent, fresh out of Hogwarts, where she led her team to six House Championships in a row. Ladies and gentlemen, with the number fifteen, on her first professional match, I give you the youngest Beater the Harpies have ever had…nineteen-year-old ROLANDA HOOCH!"_

Thunderous applause erupted as a young witch with spiky red hair dashed out of the catacombs and zoomed up to join the other players. Amelia was the first of the three to get hold of Minerva's omnioculars.

"My, what a bird! Fierce look. Pretty nose. And are those eyes _yellow_?"

Wilhelmina cleared her throat. "I think it's time you got some sleep, Amelia, dear," she said, gently wringing the omnioculars out of Amelia's hands and handing them back to Minerva, who brought them up to her eyes.

Amelia sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. Minerva, what about you?"

No answer.

"Mouse?"

"Yes?" came the absent-minded reply. Amelia and Wilhelmina looked at each other. Calling Minerva _Mouse_ could elicit all kinds of responses from her, but 'yes' was not usually one of them.

"Don't you want to get some sleep, too? You look like you could use it."

"No thanks. I'm fine. You go ahead."

"Right." Wilhelmina gave Amelia a tender slap on the backside. "Off we go, wench!"

~/~/~

A few hours later, Wilhelmina and Amelia came back to their places in the stands, each carrying a very large sandwich and a bottle of pumpkin juice.

"Mouse, what's the score?" Amelia asked.

"Hm?"

"The score? The numbers that tell us who's thrown how many red balls through them funny hoops?"

"Oh." Minerva lowered her omnioculars, giving Wilhelmina and Amelia a sheepish look. "Erm…"

"_You're witnessing the wildest match of the century and you aren't keeping track of the score_?" Amelia asked in astonishment, snatching the omnioculars out of Minerva's hands. "Morgana's beaver, woman, what _have_ you been doing?"

She looked through the omnioculars and pressed the speed-replay button.

"Jesus, Mary and Jacob!"

"Joseph."

"And him, too."

The young woman took the omnioculars from her eyes and gave them to Wilhelmina.

"Minerva McGonagall, are you saying that you spent the last four and a half hours gazing at slow-motion MagiColour super-close-ups of _Rolanda Hooch_?"

Minerva bit her lip. "Well, she is a very gifted player."

"My word, I can see that. Very nice and firm gifts, indeed."

"Will, you're awful!" Minerva snatched back her omnioculars, hoping against all hope that the heat she suddenly felt in her cheeks did not mean that her face had turned a vivid shade of red.

"_Change of players for the Harpies again. Hooch and Morgan will be replaced by Jensen and Andrews."_

Tossing Amelia her omnioculars, Minerva stood up. "I won't let you two make fun of me. I'm turning in."

Thus she spoke and took off, ostentatiously oblivious of the two winks that were exchanged as she did.

~/~/~

In her tent, Minerva pulled the dark green scarf with the golden talon from her neck, undid the hooks on the back of her green linen robes and let them glide to the floor. She folded them neatly and placed them on the chair next to her bed. Then she slowly began to take the pins out of her hair. When she had been promoted to Senior Assistant to the Division Head, she had taken to wearing her hair in a tight, austere bun instead of the practical braid she had worn since her childhood. However, she still had not got quite accustomed to the stiffness and the pulling, let alone the two dozen metal pins she needed to keep the masses of hair in place. With a sigh of relief, she let her hair flow freely down her back.

Minerva lay down on her bed. Wilhelmina and Amelia had teased her for bringing a tent equipped with a four-poster bed, a fireplace and soft plaid blankets. Friends of the wild outdoors, they maintained the opinion that camping should involve sleeping bags, folding cots and lots of ants. Not Minerva's idea of an agreeable holiday. She closed her eyes.

Had she really been looking at that girl for _four and a half hours_?

Yes, she had.

And she had liked what she'd seen. For example that Rolanda Hooch played an intelligent game. Very lean for a Beater, she made up for the robustness she lacked with brains and tactics. She was quick, and she seemed to have a sixth sense for the movements of the other players. Knowing that the Heidelberg Harriers' Chasers were too rugged to be swept off their broomsticks by the hits of a nineteen-year-old girl playing in her first professional match, she never aimed directly at them but just a foot or so ahead of the tips of their broomsticks, forcing them to change course. Sometimes she also went straight for the Quaffle, re-directing it to one of her own teammates or—accompanied by earsplitting cheers from the Harpies fans—hitting it out of the way just a split second before it could soar through one of the goalhoops.

And the determination in those amber eyes…

And the flaming red hair…

And the legs…

Why was it suddeny so hard to keep those hands from wandering?

With the delightful image of a pair of shapely toned legs in tight, forest green trousers and tall boots with brown leather shinguards, Minerva McGonagall fell into a sweet slumber.

~/~/~

…_The red-headed Beater swooped across the Quidditch pitch, hitting an endless arsenal of Bludgers at the goalhoops. The Keeper, long, black hair swaying in the wind, had a hard time fending them off. Suddenly a Snitch, no larger than a cherry, appeared and began whizzing around the hoops. The redhead threw away her bat, and on her chest there appeared the markings that identified the Seeker. She fixed her eyes on the Snitch, which now hovered right in front of the Keeper's nose. The Keeper was irritated, but tempted. Just as she was about to throw all rules to the wind and grasp it herself, the redhead darted forward, perched almost horizontally on her broomstick, her right hand stretched out as two hands simultaneously closed in on the Golden Snitch. _

_The Seeker smirked, her face now within inches of the Keeper's. "Snitchnip. That's five points from your team."_

"Mouse!" Amelia Bones tapped her fingers against Minerva's tent.

"Lmelone…"

"Mouse, wake up! The Harpies are bringing on Wanda Hooch again."

"Rolanda."

"Same difference. Come on! I bought you coffee and something unpronounceable from one of the German food stalls."

"Mmh. Just give me some privacy to get dressed and freshen up, will you?"

The getting dressed and freshening up did not take Minerva nearly as long as usual. She slid into her robes, closed the hooks with a swish of her wand and swiftly braided her hair. Never mind the pins, a Harpies' ribbon would do. Downing the coffee Amelia had brought, she wiped her face with a wet cloth that she plucked out of thin air and stepped out into the early morning.

A few minutes later, they were back in the V.I.W. stands, where everybody, regardless of their colours, was on their feet, shouting and shaking their fists.

Wilhelmina was as agitated as everyone, her long chin trembling violently.

"You've just missed the ruddy most despicable foul I have ever seen! Poor girl, and in her first match!"

"What happened?" Minerva snatched the omnioculars out of Wilhelmina's hands.

"Kreutzfeldt jinxed Hooch's bat. Girl hit herself right across the face. Fell about twenty feet."

"The bloody son of a—"

"Yes, she seems to have thought so, too. Sent a slug-belching charm his way before she hit the ground, good girl."

Minerva smiled. "That's the spirit."

"_Timeout for the Harpies. Rolanda Hooch is being treated by the mediwizard, while Kreutzfeldt continues to add to the local mollusc population. The Harpies' second alternate Beater still hasn't woken up, and with the first alternate already being at St. Mungo's after yesterday's close encounter with the grandstand, Coach Clarke is faced with a tough decision: either continue the match with only one Beater, or send her heavily injured youngest talent back into the pitch. There! Coach Clarke signalises to continue the game. The Holyhead Harpies will indeed play with only one Beater. And the game has been resumed. Brand has the Quaffle. Schmidt—Brand—Kuenzer—Brand again, heading for the goalhoops. But what is this? Ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, out of the catacombs comes—can it be?—yes, it can! Rolanda Hooch is back in the game!_"

Minerva turned to Wilhelmina. "What's the score and the time played?"

Wilhelmina glanced at her pocket watch. "Six days, twenty-one hours and thirteen minutes. Score is 2,180 to 2,020 for the Harriers."

Minerva did not even need to do the maths. Subtracting one hundred and fifty from any given number was a reflex shared by most Quidditch enthusiasts. "Bugger."

She refocussed the omnioculars and scanned the pitch for Rolanda Hooch, flinching as she spotted her at the far end of the pitch. The poor girl really looked like a wreck. Her left cheek was swollen and shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow, and a white patch with red stains covered her left eyebrow. Both her wrists were heavily bandaged. At first she seemed to have a few problems finding her balance on the broomstick, but as she looked down to the Harriers' bench—Minerva followed her glance—and saw that Kreutzfeldt was still coughing up whole flocks of slugs, she gave a smirk, mouthed an expression that looked like something Minerva would not repeat aloud if threatened with a Cruciatus, and steadied herself.

"_Brand drops the Quaffle—Morgan there to catch it. Morgan zooms past Schmidt and Kuenzer, dodges a Bludger from Poggenpohl—GOAL! Score now 2,180 to 2,030 for the Harriers. Kreutzfeldt seems to have run out of vermin and mounts his broomstick. Bell now has the Quaffle. Bludger approaching Kreutzfeldt; Kreutzfeldt raises his bat—and emits another slug. Hooch clears, Bell throws—GOAL! The Harriers now lead by only 140 points, turning this into an entirely open match again."_

"Excuse me, Minerva?" Amelia looked at her friend.

Minerva lowered her omnioculars. "What?"

"Did you just say 'What a doll?'"

"I most certainly did no such thing!"

"_Kuenzer in possession, dodging two bludgers and a rogue invertebrate. What's that? Down at the entrance to the catacombs Harriers Seeker Himmelfahrt seems to have spotted something. Griffiths immediately by his side. The two Seekers begin a bitterly determined race. The Golden Snitch has appeared at long last! Himmelfahrt stretches out his hand, Griffiths only inches behind him. Poggenpohl aims a Bludger at Griffiths; it hits the tail of her broomstick and nearly sends her off course. Griffiths now two, three feet behind Himmelfahrt. Thirty feet above them, MacPhearse now in possession, but what are Hooch and Bell up to? Bell approaches Himmelfahrt, lifts her—IS THAT ALLOWED? Well, Referee Delafontaine seems to have no objections. Himmelfahrt loses his focus for a second; Griffiths catches up with him, both now shoulder to shoulder, broomstick to broomstick. Griffiths looks down at Hooch, speeding along ten feet below her; Hooch nods. WHAT is going on there? A Bludger approaches, Hooch raises her bat and hits it in the direction of the Snitch. What a smooth and well-aimed shot! Griffiths darts up, so does the Snitch, Himmelfahrt temporarily nonplussed, and GRIFFITHS CATCHES THE SNITCH! THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES WIN BY 2,190 to 2,180 AFTER SEVEN DAYS, ONE HOUR AND SIXTEEN MINUTES!"_

Up in the V.I.W. stands, a young witch had just fallen irrevocably in love.

~/~/~

"Erm, Minerva?"

Minerva gave a start and looked up at her friends, who had already shouldered their heavy rucksacks and were carrying Minerva's tartan carpet bag between them. "Yes?"

"It's just that everyone's leaving, so unless you were planning to spend another night here in the stands..."

"Oh." Minerva blushed and pocketed her omnioculars.

"Here." Wilhelmina and Amelia set down the heavy bag. "We've taken the liberty of packing your belongings. Come, or we'll miss our Portkey to London."

"London?" Amelia pouted. "Will, I thought we'd agreed that we were going to take the brooms to the after-match party at the Merry Mandrake?"

Wilhelmina arched her eyebrows. "Did we? Well, why not…"

Minerva straightened herself and took her carpet bag. "You two go without me. I'd like to get some sleep and go to the office early tomorrow morning."

"To the office?" Amelia asked. "Minerva, you're on holiday until Monday! No, we're going to the Merry Mandrake. Besides, I heard that all the Harpies will be there. _Including_…"

"Oh, if you insist," Minerva sighed. "But only for one drink."

~/~/~

The Merry Mandrake was already brimming with song and laughter as the three witches parked their broomsticks in the small shack by the ramshackle building, with the wooden image of a crudely drawn root displaying a rather daft smile dangling above the door. Minerva secured their luggage with a padlock charm. "There. Let's go."

"Yes'm." Amelia scurried after Minerva, who did not see the well-focused, swift flick of the wand her friend had aimed at her hair. The ribbon vanished, and an invisible hand unbraided Minerva's hair.

"What—"

"Oh, come on, Mouse! Just this once!"

Minerva sighed. "If you insist." Truth be told, she did not mind the idea at all. She genuinely liked her waist-length, raven hair, only she was not usually fond of the attention it could attract. But tonight, it would certainly do no harm. Not that she suspected that it would do her any good, either. The way Rolanda had played she had probably got herself more fans than was good for her at this tender age, and certainly more daring ones than this prim Ministry marm.

Gushes of merriment greeted them as Wilhelmina opened the door and waved her companions in with a gallant bow. Hundreds of witches and wizards were gathered in the cramped public room. Minerva did not even need to look around. The tufts of red hair were quite conspicuous among the group of women in identical forest green summer dresses over by the bar, as was the brisk laugh, clearly audible even against the background noise of the crowded pub.

"What are you drinking?" Amelia asked.

"Just a small butterbeer for me," said Wilhelmina. Minerva wanted a ginger ale.

"Three firewhiskies, please," Amelia told the bartender, her voice carrying easily above the three rows of patrons in front of her. Turning around to her friends, she added: "You can't toast the greatest team on earth with ginger ale. That's plain rude."

The bartender placed three generously filled glasses on the counter. Wilhemina took one and raised it.

"To the Harpies, winners of the finest match ever played."

"To their three loyal admirers," Minerva added.

Amelia grinned. "And to omnioculars."

At some point, someone began to sing the first lines of the Holyhead Harpies' team song, _Here Come the Queens of the Quaffles_. Party by party, the patrons joined in, and by the time they arrived at the chorus, the entire pub was singing loudly, each to his or her own tune. After the song had ended, Coach Clarke cleared her throat and climbed onto a chair.

"Dear friends," she began, "I'm not a woman of many words."

"Hear, hear," someone said.

"No, really. So here goes: thanks everyone!" Before she stepped down from her chair again, she added: "Oh, and lest I forget: free butterbeer for all!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Most people dashed straight to the bar, so that hardly anyone saw the small tawny owl that hammered its beak against one of the windows. Wilhelmina elbowed her way through the masses and let the animal in. It headed straight for Coach Clarke, who took a small piece of parchment from the owl's right foot. Her lips moved along as she perused the note. Looking up, she shouted: "Everybody! I have received a message from the coach of the Heidelberg Harriers."

The chatter stopped.

"_'Very honoured Mrs. Clarke, I would like to apologise myself at you, your team, the fans and especially the poor Miss Hooch. The behaviour of Mr. Kreutzfeldt was inexcusable, and I would like that you know that he has been fired. With respectful greetings and sincere congratulations on a fine match, Siegfried Schmitz. PS: If you would like... ' _well, folks, the rest is really none of your business._"_

Cheers erupted once more.

"Serves that bastard right," Minerva said, looking over at Rolanda. The colour of her left cheek had settled into a soft shade of pink, but the sizeable bruises were still painful to look at. It was hard to keep the mind from wandering. From thinking what it would be like to comfort the girl, to take her in her arms and cover her cheek and her eyebrows with caresses. From allowing illusions to build up that no one in their right mind would deem realistic.

Rolanda was now jesting with Erin MacPhearse and Gwendolyn Morgan. On the Quidditch pitch, Minerva had seen the determination in the girl's eyes. She had seen the concentration, and the desire to win. Here in the pub, she saw a different Rolanda Hooch. One who wrinkled her nose and threw back her head when she laughed, and she laughed a lot. Minerva smiled to herself as she spotted a canine just a little out of line among its otherwise perfect companions. If there was one thing she loved about other women's faces it was those little features that made them truly unique. Why people would call them imperfections was something she would never understand.

Amelia saw the look in her friend's eyes. "You've got it bad, eh?"

She knew her friend's non-reaction to be a straightforward admission, McGonagall style.

"Well, talk to her."

Minerva took a step back. "I could never! What should I tell her anyway?"

Amelia gave her a stern look. "Are you saying that Minerva McGonagall, the woman who is reputed to have stared down her Auror examiner until he apologised in tears after he had accused her of cheating because her transfig work was too damn good for her age—that this woman hasn't got the tits in her brassiere to tell a nineteen-year-old girl that she played a good game?"

Stone-faced, Minerva said: "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Wihelmina draped an arm around Minerva's shoulder. "Dear, at times my young lover may be a bit impulsive, and her ideas aren't always the best—may I remind you of an incident involving a bottle of firewhisky, a cherry tree and a week at St. Mungo's?—but this time I happen to be with her. Collect yourself a bit, and then go for her."

Running a hand over the front of her robes to smooth them, Minerva straightened herself and exhaled deeply. "All right. But I shan't force myself upon her."

"You wouldn't." Wilhelmina craned her neck. "Excellent opportunity. She just left for the garden."

Amelia smiled gleefully as Minerva exhaled once more and made toward the back door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she called after her. Not that that was much of an admonition.

~/~/~

Mere minutes later, Minerva was back at the table. Her face betrayed no emotion.

Amelia and Wilhelmina greeted her with anticipation in their eyes. "So?"

Minerva shook her head.

"What do you mean—" Amelia shook her head as well, giving Minerva a questioning look.

"By—" Minerva shook her head again "—I mean that I didn't talk to her."

"But whyever not?" Wilhelmina burst out, quite against her habits. "Minerva, you're confident, you're attractive, and you're a woman of the word. Why on earth didn't you talk to her?"

"Because she would have had difficulty answering, what with her mouth being latched onto that of the mediwizard's."

"The mediWIZARD's?"

"Yes."

Amelia and Wilhelmina looked at Minerva as if she had just announced that Rolanda had kissed a hobgoblin.

"Bugger."

"You can say that again."

"I can't believe it."

All three of them fell silent. Wilhelmina went for more drinks, and Minerva examined the grain of the wooden table. After a while, she downed the remains of her firewhisky, shaking her head at Wilhelmina, who had just arrived with fresh supplies.

"I think I'll be going home, girls."

Torn between pulling Minerva into a comforting hug and giving her encouraging pats on the back, Wilhelmina and Amelia resorted to nodding their heads.

"Do you want company?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

Amelia nodded again. "See you at work, dear." She quickly leaned forward and gave Minerva a gentle peck on the cheek. Minerva returned a half-hearted smile, bade her friends goodnight, and left.

~/~/~

Happy to feel the fresh air brush against her cheeks, Minerva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What had she been thinking? Had she really thought that one could simply fall in love with the girl in the omnioculars, say 'hello, nice game' to her and live happily ever after? Instant domestic bliss for the brainy Ministry witch and the athletic teenager? It was ridiculous. Rolanda was young, and she had probably just become one of the most popular Quidditch players of Britain. She'd have men and women queuing up for her, and she'd be able to pick and choose as she liked. And who could blame her for not looking at the stern, bespectacled old maid ten years her senior but settling for the mediwizard who had patched her up during the match? From what Minerva had seen, he was good-looking. Tall and blond, though a bit on the scrawny side, and he had the delicate hands of a healer.

Yet _she_ had delicate hands, too, hands that performed the finest transfigurations and the most intricate spells. Hands that were longing to work their magic not just on inanimate objects. Only there was always the barrier. That invisible barrier she so cherished when it kept unwanted familiarity at bay but cursed every time it wouldn't budge however much she might want to make closer contact with someone – as select as those occasions were. Amelia would have walked up to the girl, paid her a compliment, and probably been up to her neck in conversation in no time. Much as it happened years ago at Hogwarts, really, when a short, brown-haired Hufflepuff fourth-year had tugged at the Gryffindor Head Girl's robes to tell her that she liked her hair, and then drawn her into a two-hour conversation, brazenly assuming that her presence would be welcome and not even being wrong.

But Minerva was not Amelia, and never would be. At twenty-eight, Minerva had come to the conclusion that she should slowly begin to make peace with the idea of turning into an old spinster before her time. There had been the occasional man who had shown an interest, usually quite a bit older than she, educated and kind, but not one of them had been a serious option. She had enjoyed their conversations, even the beginnings of their infatuations, yet pretending that there was anything else on her part would have been insincere. From her early days on, from her first crush on Professor Milena Anaximander the Arithmancy teacher, she knew that it would always be women, that it would always be soft skin and delicate hands, though muscles and short hair wouldn't hurt. Oh, she knew all right what it was like to kiss a woman (Amelia had considered it an elementary skill for a Head Girl and seen to at least a very basic education), but she had never experienced the buzz, the anxiety and the joy of sharing love. It wouldn't happen this time, either. Still, the illusion had been nice.

Minerva was just going to mount her broomstick when she heard an earsplitting scream from somewhere above the nearby forest. She dashed upward and followed the noise. Down in a small clearing, between hazels and junipers, she perceived a movement. Someone was trying to make their way into the shrubbery. Minerva landed softly and approached the person, a hand ready to grab her wand in an instant. There was a woman with long hair so blond it shone almost white. She recognised her immediately.

"Glynnis Griffiths?"

The woman turned around. "Whoever you are, I think I can use your help. My friend fell off her broom, and she must be somewhere around here."

She tried to push the sturdy branches of a hazel aside.

"I don't want to use a spell. I might hurt her."

"You're quite right," said Minerva. "I think I can help." She quickly turned into a cat and disappeared between the bushes.

Total darkness surrounded her, difficult to penetrate even for her cat eyes. She cautiously moved forward, paw by paw, foot by foot, sniffing here and there to pick up a human scent. It was there as a faint trace at first, but as she followed it, it grew stronger. Minerva recognised a tell-tale sweetness in the scent. Someone was there, and she was bleeding.

Then she saw her. Red hair and a forest green summer dress under a Harpies' robe. _NO!_ There, in front of her, lay Rolanda Hooch, unconscious. The gash above her eyebrow had cracked open again and was bleeding violently. Her leg looked twisted. As Minerva approached it to see if it was broken, another scent struck her. It was fading fast, but unmistakably there. It smelled like a mixture of plant essences. One was belladonna. But what was the other one? Minerva did not dare touch Rolanda's leg or even remove the dress, but she took a closer sniff to memorise the scent. It was odd. Then, remembering that she had a severely injured woman in front of her, she changed back into her human form, swiftly transfigured a few leaves into strips of white linen and applied a provisional bandage to Rolanda's forehead after disinfecting it with a wave of her wand.

"Glynnis?"

"Yes?" came the answer.

"I found her. Get out of the way, I'm going to torch the bushes!"

With a loud _SWOOSH_, Minerva blazed a passage into the shrubbery, and Glynnis came running toward them.

"There's a mediwizard in the Merry Mandrake. Go and get him as quickly as you can. Tell the landlord to have a transport to St. Mungo's arranged. And bring along Coach Clarke, please. And perhaps a blanket or two."

"Wow. You trained in this?"

"I'm an Auror," Minerva answered matter-of-factly.

Glynnis zoomed off, and Minerva went back to Rolanda's side. She gently took the girl's head between her hands and eased her own legs beneath it to give it something soft and warm to rest on. Stroking Rolanda's healthy cheek, her Auror mind began to wonder. A young Beater who apparently spent more time on a broomstick than on her legs didn't fall just like that. Her breath did not smell of alcohol, and she had not seemed at all affected by her injuries while she was in the Merry Mandrake. And legs didn't just start smelling of poisonous essences out of nowhere.

After a while, Glynnis Griffiths came back with the young mediwizard. Coach Clarke, Amelia and Wilhelmina were trailing behind them.

"Poor baby," the mediwizard muttered as he examined Rolanda's leg. "Looks like this is going to take some sophisticated bone repair work." He motioned Minerva to remove herself, and Minerva complied, hoping that her reluctance was not too obvious. _He's a mediwizard, for Morgana's sake_, she thought. _Yes_, said another voice in her head, _and he kissed her and you didn't_.

Minerva decided to make herself useful in other ways. She approached Glynnis, who was standing a few feet away, hugging herself and trying hard not to cry.

"How did this happen?"

Glynnis shrugged. "I couldn't really see it because I was flying in front of her. For all I can tell she just slid off her broomstick. She wasn't drunk, though!"

Minerva nodded, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

"Where did you park the broomsticks?"

"In one of the upstairs rooms. Coach Clarke always locks them in with a special spell. It was unbroken when we went in."

"Thank you, Glynnis."

Minerva beckoned Amelia to her side.

"What is it, boss? Are we investigating?"

"I want to take a look at the room where they parked their broomsticks at the Merry Mandrake and talk to a few people. Can you find me her broomstick? It can't be that far away."

Amelia nodded, and Minerva straddled her broom and swooped away into the direction of the Merry Mandrake.

~/~/~

The next morning at five-thirty, a sleep-deprived Minerva McGonagall slammed a hand on her desk at the Ministry.

"What do you mean, you couldn't find her broomstick?"

"Well," Amelia said quietly, "it means that it wasn't there. I looked everywhere. Will even fetched young Mad-Eye to help me."

Minerva pressed her lips together. If Mad-Eye didn't find something, one could trust that it was truly gone.

"Do you really think it was jinxed?" Amelia asked.

Minerva shrugged and pulled two chairs to the fireplace. Pouring two cups of tea for Amelia and herself, she said: "I'd like to assume it, but the broomstick room wasn't broken into. Coach Clarke had secured it with an Anti-Apparating spell and a sophisticated voice-recognition password. Both were unbroken. The room has a fireplace, but it's not connected to the Floo network, and the chimney is too narrow for anyone to climb through. That means that if someone tampered with her broomstick, it could only have been a team member. But no one has a motive. Everyone seems to like her. I briefly thought of the second alternate Beater, you know, because Rolanda got all the laurels she might have earned if only she had woken up, but she's being watched at St. Mungo's. Still sound asleep."

"And what if it really was an accident?"

Minerva shook her head. "Let's look at what we know. Rolanda Hooch is injured but does not show any sign of weakness either during the rest of the match or at the party afterwards. She drinks pumpkin juice, goes out to the garden for…never mind, and ends up falling off her broomstick with her legs smelling of belladonna and something else."

"Her legs smelled of something?" Amelia asked. "You didn't tell me that!"

"Well, they did. It was fading fast, but I was in my cat form when I found her, so I picked it up."

"That's odd. What was the other substance?"

"If only I knew."

Amelia pushed forward her lower lip, as she usually did when she was thinking. Then she got up, took a pinch of a powdery substance out of a small tartan tin on the mantelpiece, and poked her head into the fireplace.

When she withdrew her head from the opening, she said: "Will is going to bring you a few specimens from her herb garden. I assume you want to know what the other scent was?"

Minerva nodded. She had taken to pacing her office, which Amelia found quite irritating because the office was everything but paceable. It was small, which meant that Minerva had to spin around rather more often than was pleasant to someone trying to speak to her, and it had a hard, shiny wooden floor that emitted violent noises at each touch of Minerva's heels.

A loud _SWOOSH_ from the fireplace announced that someone—or part of someone—had just Flooed in.

"That was fast!" Amelia jumped up.

"Flowers for the ladies," Wilhelmina said, extending a bunch of weeds to Amelia. "I brought you a sprig of everything I could find."

"Thanks, love!" They kissed, and Wilhelmina vanished.

Still in the fireplace, Amelia turned her head upward.

"No, there's really no way someone would fit through a chimney like this."

"Actually, I've been up there already," Minerva said absent-mindedly. "In my cat…of _course_!" She slapped her hand against her forehead. "How could I not think of that? Amelia, get me the Animagus register. All of Europe. And the records of all proceedings against unregistered Animagi of the past twenty years."

"Yes, boss."

After Amelia had left, Minerva took the sprigs and placed them on the floor in a neat row. She gratefully noticed that Wilhelmina had even thought of attaching small parchment tags that identified each plant. Minerva sat down on the wooden floor and transformed. _Lovage_. No. That one she would have recognised. _Thorn-apple_. No. _Wolfsbane_. Similar, but no. _Henbane_. Henbane. Minerva sniffed again and swiftly changed back into her human form. She swept over to the fireplace and took a pinch of Floo powder.

"Poppy! Poppy, wake up!"

Minerva was looking into a small, tidy room with very old, polished stone walls. Large, leather-bound volumes, phials with liquids in all colours and a vast array of potted herbs lined the oaken bookshelves. Somebody was sleeping in a four-poster bed with sparkly white sheets. This somebody now stirred.

"Mmh?"

"Poppy, I need your help!"

"Who is hurt? Is it an emergency?" The young woman jumped out of her bed, her nightgown and bonnet as white as her bedlinens.

"Of sorts. Poppy, what can you tell me about henbane in combination with belladonna?"

Poppy Pomfrey yawned. "In combination, you say? Flying ointment, or green oil. Invented by Squibs in the Middle Ages because it made you think you could fly. Highly toxic, very dangerous stuff. Many became addicted to the substance and died a wretched death."

"When you say 'fly,' would that be with or without a broomstick?"

"Without. Other effects include hallucinations, temporary paralysis, numbness of the skin and extreme thirst. Why?"

"Thank you, Poppy! I'll explain later; I have work to do! Bye!"

"Bye," said Poppy, but Minerva was already gone. Poppy shook her head. Aurors!

~/~/~

Looking at her watch, Minerva knocked at the Division Head's door. He was usually in by seven o'clock, and that was exactly how early it was.

"Come in!" a deep, elderly voice shouted.

Minerva opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Bullitt."

"Top of the morning to you, Miss McGonagall. What are you doing here so early?"

"Haven't you heard, Mr. Bullitt? The Ministry keeps me working such long hours that I've decided to give up my flat and live here full-time."

"Oh, I'm certain Flipsy will be delighted to hear that. He's madly in love with you, that one."

"I know. And I think I should be paid extra for being the victim of a house elf's devotion. He keeps cleaning up my desk, which would be fine if he didn't arrange the pieces of parchment by size instead of in order."

Mr. Bullitt laughed. He was a very large, very bald man with chubby apple cheeks and bright, intelligent eyes. "Do sit down, Miss McGonagall, and tell me what brings you to me."

Minerva told him about the incident of the night before and what she had learned from Poppy Pomfrey. "…And that's why I would like to conduct a full investigation. Would that be all right?"

"Of course, Miss McGonagall. See what you can do."

"And, Mr. Bullitt?"

"Yes?"

"May I have Amelia to assist me?"

Mr. Bullitt tilted his head and pondered the request for a moment. "Very well. But not full-time. We're a bit short of hands after that fierce match and its aftermath. I wonder why you and Miss Bones are so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Harpies that you are."

Minerva gave him a stern look. "Years of hard practice, Mr. Bullitt."

The Head of the Auror Division laughed. "I should have known. Ever the dedicated young lady. Cheerio, Miss McGonagall."

~/~/~

It was rush hour in London. Minerva had donned the calf-length, black skirt she loved to wear when she dressed up as a Muggle because she liked the way it accentuated her figure. Not that she was a classical beauty, tall and slightly bony as she was, but it was not as if she had anything to hide, either. Besides, the outfit was quite a change from the usual. Witches rarely wore tight skirts because they were highly unpractical if one owned a broomstick.

Minerva was hurrying along with the people who nudged and edged their ways past each other on Oxford Street. In front of an abandoned department store, she stopped. "Minerva McGonagall from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she said to one of the sun-bleached toy soldiers that looked like they had been forgotten in the window. "I'm here to see Miss Rolanda Hooch."

The windowpane shimmered ever so slightly, and Minerva stepped through it as if it were the flimsiest of curtains.

There was great commotion in the entrance hall of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. A long queue had formed in front of the admissions counter. Judging by the angles at which the people in it leaned against the whitewashed wall, Minerva suspected them to be mostly victims of excessive firewhisky ingestion. She glanced over at the information counter and sighed. No chance of obtaining any information soon. She decided to go and look for Rolanda herself. 'Ground Floor: Artefact Accidents' seemed most plausible to her.

She walked down a long corridor, the tall, square heels of her black Muggle boots clicking against the green linoleum floor.

A mediwizard was walking right in front of her.

"Excuse me," she called after him. When he turned around, she gave a small start. It was _the_ mediwizard. The one with whom she would have traded places for anything in the world nine hours ago.

"Yes? Oh, it's the Auror!"

"Hello. Minerva McGonagall is my name. I'm looking for—"

"Rolanda, I suppose? I'll see you to her. I'm Florian Lark."

Florian led her to another corridor, which they walked down until the very end. At the last door on the left, they stopped.

"Slug-belching charm," he said. With a wink at Minerva, he added: "We protected her door with a password. Wouldn't want everyone to walk in on the Harpies' new darling."

_Whose new darling is it, anyway?_ Minerva thought bitterly. The thought that this mediwizard was one of the very few people who could access Rolanda Hooch's room in all privacy somehow annoyed her. _Stupid, jealous spinster_, Minerva scolded herself. _So what if he sees her alone? She didn't seem to mind last night._

Minerva gave the young wizard a tight-lipped smile and entered.

Rolanda Hooch was lying in the bed by the window, her leg heavily bandaged and a patch smelling strongly of herbs on her cheek. Someone else was snoring in the bed near the door.

"Hello, Rolanda," Minerva said.

"Hello," Rolanda said. "Who are you?"

Minerva bit her tongue. _True, how should she know who I am?_ "I'm Minerva McGonagall. Call me Minerva. I'm an Auror, and I was at the Merry Mandrake."

"Oh. Florian told me about you. You were the one who found me. Come here and let me thank you!"

Minerva approached the bed, and two warm hands gripped her own. They were big hands, strong, but with a girlishly delicate skin.

"I'm investigating your case."

Rolanda's eyes widened. "Do I have a case?"

"Well, a severe case of being a ruddy spectacular Beater, that much is certain."

Rolanda smiled at the praise, no doubt used to it by now.

"No, seriously. I believe that you didn't fall off your broomstick just like that."

"But I did. I got all dizzy, and the next thing I remember is waking up in this room."

Minerva pulled up a wooden chair and sat down next to the bed.

"Did the Healers detect anything…odd?"

"No. Just a complicated bone fracture, a gash and a lot of bruises."

Minerva nodded. The scent had already been fading when she picked it up, and she had used her cat senses. By the time Rolanda got to St. Mungo's, no witch or wizard would have been able to detect anything. If only she had been able to confiscate the broomstick.

"Rolanda?"

"Yes?"

"I have to ask you a question, and promise me you'll tell me the truth. You have nothing to fear."

"Fire."

"Have you ever used intoxicants?"

"As in drugs? No. I don't even drink."

"Ointments?"

"Drugs that are ointments? Never."

"Do you know what henbane and belladonna are?"

"Yes. I took herbology in my NEWTs. They're bloody dangerous."

Minerva nodded. "You had henbane and belladonna on your legs."

"On my _legs_?"

"Yes. I'm an Animagus, and I smelled the traces."

"Wow. I've never met an Animagus. What kind?"

"Tabby cat." Minerva smiled. The girl had just learned that she had been exposed to a potentially lethal substance, and she wondered about Minerva's Animagus form. Certainly a different set of priorities than most people would have.

"Did anyone touch your legs last night?"

Rolanda chewed her lip, thinking. "No."

"Not even Florian?"

"How do you know—"

"Sorry. I couldn't help noticing you two when I went out to catch some air."

"Gee, you did pick the right job. But no, he didn't."

"Think again. I'm sorry I have to pry, but this could be important. The substance was on the inside of your thighs. What, or whom, did your legs have contact with last night?"

Rolanda shook her head, thinking hard. Suddenly, she swept away her cover.

"Where exactly was it?"

Minerva tried not to inhale too sharply. Rolanda was wearing a pyjama top but no trousers, so that her legs were nearly fully exposed. Minerva had imagined these legs before, and even though one was bandaged she could tell that they were every bit as shapely as in the daydream that had eased her into sleep the day before. They were toned, not bulgy as one often saw it with athletes, but just showing hints of the muscles shaped by hours and hours of exercise and broomstick manoeuvres hidden beneath the firm flesh. And Minerva wondered where Rolanda had got this soft, shimmering tan.

"Right here." Minerva indicated the spot on the inner thigh, carefully avoiding contact and the thought of what exactly those adductors could do when flexed.

"Hm," made Rolanda, pulling the cover back over her body. "All that ever touches me there is my broomstick."

_Merlin, you pathetic old hag_, Minerva thought to herself, _did you just think 'I'm glad to hear that?_' She tore her thoughts away from Rolanda's legs and focused them on her work.

"Could anyone have tampered with your broomstick?" she asked.

Rolanda shook her head. Minerva had expected no other reaction. It only confirmed what Coach Clarke and Glynnis Griffiths had told her.

"Well, I'll leave you alone now. You probably need to rest a bit."

"Will you come back soon and tell me how the investigations are going?" Rolanda asked.

Minerva smiled. _As often as I can find an excuse to, dear_. "Yes," she said.

~/~/~

Back in her office, Minerva slumped into the chair by the fireplace, for once grateful that Flipsy always made sure that there was a pot of freshly brewed tea on the small side table. The five hours in her tent, more than twenty-four hours ago, had been the last sleep she had got, and she was starting to feel it. The tea helped her stay awake, but it made her giddy. She rubbed her dry, burning eyes, sipping on her cup and hoping for the fog in her head to clear.

Someone had wanted Rolanda Hooch to fall off her broom. Someone who knew how to make flying ointment and who either had access to Rolanda's legs without her noticing or was able to slide through a chimney to rub it on her broomstick. But Rolanda had no enemies. There seemed nothing wrong between her and Florian, her teammates adored her, and she was too young to have made enemies in the war.

And the match?

Minerva pondered this for a while. Would being thrown off a team be a motive to attack the person on whose account one was sacked? Add to that the humiliation of the slug-belching charm and the less-than-friendly comments from the stadium announcer, plus a liberal dose of testosterone.

She got up and hurried down the corridor to run this idea by Amelia. The young Auror, perching over a heap of parchments, looked up.

"Hello, Minerva. I'm almost done with your list. There are no suspicious persons among the registered Animagi, and the records concerning the unregistered ones are, as you might imagine, quite incomplete. But here's something that might interest you." She handed over a small piece of parchment.

Minerva's eyes quickly scanned the note. A fairy in the forest where the accident had happened had spotted a squirrel turn into a rather large young man.

"Do you have squirrels on your list?"

Amelia shook her head. "But read the man's description."

Minerva's eyes hurried along the neatly written lines. "No," she whispered. "NO!" She slammed the parchment on the table, her cheeks turning a vivid shade of purple.

"I WANT HIS MISSHAPEN, UGLY BABOON'S ARSE! GET ME AN INTERNATIONAL WARRANT OF ARREST FROM THE DIMC AND I'LL HUNT THE FILTHY, BUGGERY BASTARD DOWN IF IF I HAVE TO FOLLOW HIM ON FOOT TO THE REMOTEST CORNER OF THE BLOODY BLACK FOREST!"

Amelia waited patiently until Minerva had finished, knowing from experience that there was no point in trying to interrupt a McGonagall outburst. When Minerva had calmed down sufficiently to listen, Amelia spoke.

"I'll go to the DIMC right away and see what they can do for us. Meanwhile, I've got plans for you."

Minerva frowned. "_You_'ve got plans for _me_?"

"Yes. It's been forever since you've slept or eaten; therefore you will Floo to Will's place this instant, where you shall eat lunch and take a nap. The soup's ready and your bed's been made, and I solemnly swear to inform you the very second - _SECOND_ - something happens. Now go or I'll tell Flipsy that your office needs cleaning."

Grateful though Minerva was, and never mind the fatigue and the Bludger-sized hole in her stomach, she did not want to leave. Kreutzfeldt had attacked Rolanda Hooch, and she wanted to be there when they got him. Hell, she wanted to get him herself. She wanted to make him pay for the pain the girl had to suffer, and she wanted to make sure that he would never even consider committing a similar act. She tried to convince herself that it had nothing to do with wanting to leave a lasting impression with Rolanda Hooch, but of course Minerva McGonagall was not easily fooled. Not even by herself.

Giving in, she allowed Amelia to pull her to the fireplace and took some Floo powder out of the tin Amelia extended to her.

"But when something new comes up, tell me immediately."

"That's what I said," Amelia said patiently, placing her hands on Minerva's shoulders and moving her closer to the fireplace.

"Unicorn Cottage," Minerva muttered as she began to feel the well-known dizziness in her head.

A little later, Minerva was covered by a fluffy down duvet, her head resting on a pillow that smelled of soothing herbs. Wilhelmina had treated her to a delicious soup, and she had made ginger pudding, the dessert Minerva could never resist. Now she entered the guest room with a steaming mug in her hands, which she held out to Minerva.

"I'm going to put you to sleep now. Amelia said if I don't you will spend your naptime mulling over ten ways to grill, fry and chop up that Kreutzfeldt person."

"She's probably right," Minerva said. "Just promise this won't leave me drowsy all day."

Wilhelmina shook her head. "There's an antidote, commonly known as tea."

She just wanted to withdraw discreetly when she heard Minerva's voice behind her.

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Sorry."

Wilhelmina tilted her head. "There's no such thing as nothing." She took two steps toward the bed and, when Minerva had nodded her approval, sat down on its edge.

"I'm so happy for you and Amelia."

Wilhelmina nodded. "So am I. Amelia is my everything. I'm grateful for every minute I am with her, and I love her more than my life." That was a long speech by Wilhelmina's standards. "You'll see. It'll happen to you, too."

Minerva placed the empty mug on the bedside table and let out a deep breath. "I hope so." She lay back and rested her head on the pillow. "I just fear that I will never get this far because I don't dare seize my opportunities. I'm twenty-eight now, and it hasn't happened yet. I feel as if I were doing something wrong."

"No. You can't force it. Love, particularly our kind, is like a Snitch. Sometimes you wait for it, hovering in mid-air for what seems like an eternity, when it suddenly whizzes right past your nose. And then you know that it's time to go after it. I was twenty-five when I had my first girlfriend. My Aunt was over fifty. Of course she'd been married, but—" Wilhelmina smiled and broke off. Minerva's eyelids had dropped, and her regular breathing told Wilhelmina that the sleeping draught had done its job. She stood up from the bed, tiptoed out of the room and silently shut the door behind her.

~/~/~

There was a knock at the guest room door. Minerva stirred and reached for her glasses.

"Mmh?"

"Minerva? Amelia says you might want to come to the Ministry."

Suddenly wide awake, Minerva jumped out of the bed, dressed as quickly as she could and pulled on her boots. Still busy with her hairpins, she came out of the guest room, where Wilhelmina greeted her with a cup of tea.

"Hnk you," Minerva muttered through the pins clenched between her teeth. Gulping down the contents of the cup and taking a bit of Floo powder, she stepped into the fireplace.

"Thanks for everything, Wilhelmina. I'll see you later! Ministry of Magic, office of Amelia Bones."

_SWOOSH_.

"What is it, Amelia?" Minerva briskly stepped out of the fireplace, surprised to see Mr. Bullitt as well. Both were displaying graveyard expressions. Amelias lower lip was trembling.

"We have him, but we can't get him."

Minerva gave Amelia an incredulous look.

"He's in Paris."

"So? We have good relations with the Ministère des Affaires Etranges et Magiques."

"And my contact there would be more than willing to help, as would that wonderful lady with the monocle at the German MLE Department I spoke to—my, when I'm big, I want to be her—, all the more so because Kreutzfeldt has a record of—listen to this—ointment abuse."

"And? Merlin, Amelia, don't make this any longer than you have to!"

"Well, does the name Kreutzfeldt ring a bell?"

"Of course. Jakob Kreutzfeldt is the West German Envoy to Britain."

"Precisely. And Ares Kreutzfeldt is his son," said Mr. Bullitt.

"And there is not a single case on record where a close relative of a diplowizard was ever extradited for anything less than murder or manslaughter, which situation neither the Department of International Magical Cooperation nor the leadership of the French Ministry, nor the bosses of my bemonocled contact are intending to change," Amelia added.

Minerva felt the blood leave her cheeks. "That's impossible," she whispered, although she knew that all that was impossible now was for her to ever lay her hands on Kreutzfeldt. She felt anger rise in her chest and a tell-tale burning sensation in her throat, and she knew that any second now, her capacities for self-restraint would be faced with a tough challenge. She muttered an excuse and hurried down the corridor and to her office.

"NO!" she screamed as she summoned the porcelain teapot with her wand and sent it crashing into the fireplace. She repaired it with two flicks, just to smash it again with precisely as much force as before. That felt better.

Still shaking, though a little less than a minute ago, she cleaned up the fireplace and began pacing back and forth. When Mr. Bullitt and Amelia appeared in the doorway, both Minerva and the teapot had regained their respective composures.

"We're sorry, Minerva," said Mr. Bullitt with sincere concern in his voice. "It's always highly dissatisfying if that happens. Rest assured that our diplomats will address the issue. We hope that the young man can be tamed some other way."

"He better!" Minerva snapped. "If he attacks this girl one more time, I will—"

"—do nothing. For Merlin's sake, Minerva. Not being able to bring people to justice who deserve it is probably the most frustrating experience an Auror can have. But we all have to learn to live with it. Take the rest of the day off and visit the girl. It's best if you break her the news."

Minerva muttered a few words of thanks and opened the wooden chest next to the fireplace, where she kept her Muggle clothes. Seeing what was about to happen, Mr. Bullitt politely excused himself and left.

Minerva took out her slim-cut, black skirt and a dark red blouse. She carelessly picked out a pair of stockings, whereupon Amelia shook her head. She took the stockings out of Minerva's hands, tossed them back into the chest and began rummaging around in a small box. Finally, she extracted two dark, sheer stockings with back seams.

"Those. If that Hooch girl really goes for boys, you better make it as hard for her as possible."

Minerva did not argue and allowed Amelia to help her change.

"I don't know if I want to do this. I feel as if I had let her down. She'll think I'm the biggest loser."

"Rubbish," said Amelia. "Someone has to tell her, and it better be you. Consider it a mikveh."

"Mitzvah."

"Wasn't that what I said?"

Minerva took a black leather bag out of the chest. If there was one thing about Muggle apparel that greatly annoyed her it was that it simply did not offer enough room to accommodate all the items one had to carry with oneself. "Bye."

~/~/~

One hour later, she was back in the Artefact Accidents wing. Not wanting to use the password without permission, she knocked.

"Slug-belching charm!" Rolanda shouted from inside, and the door sprang open.

The room looked changed. A screen had been set up to make for more privacy for the patients. Minerva stepped toward the window and peered past the screen.

"Hello. It's me."

"Oh, hello, Minerva! Come here!" Rolanda beamed as she edged a bit to the left and patted her mattress. "They've put up this screen because Gina now wakes up occasionally, and they wanted to give us a bit of privacy. She's the Beater who fell asleep during the match."

Minerva could not help but wonder who Rolanda meant by 'us.' Was a mediwizard really allowed to carry on with a patient on his ward?

She negligently threw her bag on one of the chairs and sat down on the bed.

"How are you?"

Rolanda smiled. "Good. I'll be able to play again in a few weeks. My legs still feel a little numb, but the henbane will have no lasting effects on my central nervous system, they say, and whatever that means, I trust that that is a good thing."

Minerva let out a sigh of relief and placed her hand over Rolanda's. "I'm happy to hear that."

"And you?"

"I'm here to bring you news. I wish it was good news."

"Can't you find out who did this?"

"Worse. We know who it was—or technically I should say: we have conclusive evidence that clearly points to our one and only suspect, but he is the son of an ambassador and enjoys de facto immunity."

"Meaning that you can't get hold of his arse? Who is he, then?"

"Kreutzfeldt. He's an Animagus squirrel, so he could have entered the broomstick room through the chimney, and he was seen near the place where you fell. Plus, he has a record of intoxicants abuse."

Rolanda emitted a whistle. "Kreutzfeldt. Does he still want to get at me?"

"Unlikely. He's had his revenge. However, to be safe, I'll have personal protection arranged for your next matches." _Never mind what Bullitt says_, she thought.

"A bodyguard?"

Minerva smiled. "Of sorts. If I can't arrest the bastard, keeping him from you is the least I can do."

"Wow. Can I apply for you as my bodyguard?"

"Me? Why would you want me?" Minerva asked, hiding the glee that gripped her at those words behind a puzzled expression.

"Because—" Rolanda's eyes flashed into the direction of Minerva's semi-covered calves, "—you're a Dark Wizard Catcher in back seam stockings." She grinned broadly. "And you know spiffy words."

Minerva laughed.

"We'll see if you still have that grin if your bodyguard forbids you from snogging young men in dark corners."

"Oh, that." Rolanda rolled her eyes, feigning embarrassment. "That won't happen again."

Minerva felt her jaw drop. "I thought you and Florian—"

"Me and Florian? No way!" Rolanda exclaimed. A low groan came over from the neighbouring bed, so Rolanda sat up and continued in a whisper. "That was—let's call it an experiment. I'd never been kissed, so Florian showed me. As a friend, mind you. It wasn't that bad, but I can't say it really did anything for me."

Florian was a friend, and kissing him hadn't done anything for her. Perhaps there was a God after all.

"It didn't?"

"Nah. It's hard to explain. Glynnis said when you kiss you're supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy, and if it's done right you feel it not only on your lips but...well, she didn't say, but anyway, with Florian it wasn't like that at all." Rolanda shrugged, but she somehow did not seem all that disappointed.

"Well," Minerva began hesitantly, "I suppose for some women that's just normal."

"Pardon?"

To hell with professional distance! What had Wilhelmina said about the time to go after it? If this wasn't it, when would it be?

"I think it would be a good idea to try again with somebody else."

Minerva could see the thinking that was going on behind those golden eyes.

"And who should I try it with?" Rolanda asked after a beat or two.

Minerva tilted her head, pondering her words before she spoke. She was nervous, but now that she had come this far... "Perhaps you need somebody who's…quite different from Florian?"

"Different?"

Was this girl playing with her, or was she really trying to figure out what Minerva might mean?

"In a few ways."

Rolanda swallowed. "Perhaps I do."

That was as much of an invitation as Minerva needed.

She leaned forward, raised her hand and tenderly ran the back of her fingers down Rolanda's left cheek. Cupping the pointed, determined chin in her hand, she slowly, very slowly brought Rolanda's face to her own, brushed her lips, once, twice, savouring their softness as she lingered. She traced Rolanda's collarbone with her fingers and let them move on to the neck, running her hands through the tufts of curly, red hair. A rush of delight ran through her when she felt the tip of a tongue impatiently flicking against her lips and noticed that Rolanda's shoulders had begun to tremble in eagerness to match her own. She'd be damned if this girl wasn't feeling all warm and fuzzy right now, and not just on her lips. Wrapping her arms around Rolanda's back, she pulled her close as they plunged into a long, tender kiss.

Minerva was the one who finally broke it.

"So, did that do a little more?"

Rolanda pursed her lips and knitted her eyebrows.

"Hmm. It's a bit difficult to say. Could we try again, please?"

She chuckled, and slinging her arms around Minerva's neck, she let herself fall backward onto the pillow, pulling Minerva down with her, and kissed her again with all the passion and zeal that was worthy of a Holyhead Harpy. Her hands tugged at Minerva's Muggle blouse, gently at first, then ever more impatiently until she felt skin, as Minerva, who had kept her hands strictly above Rolanda's waistline, gave up resisting the temptation to explore those parts of Rolanda's that had caught her eyes in the first place. And yes, that adductor was really something when flexed.

"Hem, hem."

Both women gave a start and pulled apart. Minerva sat up, straightened her blouse and tucked a rogue, black lock behind her ear.

"Florian…"

Florian smiled as he barged in and set down a tray of goblets and phials. "My, my, who'd have thought. I'm ever so dreadfully sorry to interrupt you ladies, but it's time for Rolanda's medicine. _How-e-vah_ —" He took one goblet off the tray, "— given the circumstances, I think we'll skip the nerve stimulant for today." His smile broadened as he withdrew with a slight bow, pulled the curtains closed and muttered a privacy charm.

Minerva McGonagall and Rolanda Hooch lost no time in resuming where they had left off.

There was a Snitch hovering right in front of their noses, waiting to be caught.

~/~/~fin~/~/~


End file.
